The unexamined life is not worth living and in order to live life to the fullest one must first forget the fear of death. At least that was Socrates’ opinion.

Not far from City College campus there is a field dotted with oak trees. A small creek that moves slowly, outlined by cattails and mule fat holds tangles of brush and debris that came in wet years when the water was high and strong. This is where I reflect. This is where I hunt.

I have been hunting since the formation of my memories. My father paddled me through the marshes of Louisiana when I was four on my first duck hunt. It was dark and I was small, taking little space on the front of our pirogue. The water was black in the darkness of a morning still awaiting the sun. Alligators and water moccasins swam soundlessly. My dad placed his hand on my shoulder. I realized my entire body was shaking. He asked if I would like to go back. He said it was okay if I was scared. I was.

For some reason, I did not want to go home. I wanted to go hunting. So my dad paddled on and I shook from fear and cold until the sun came up. Then I started shooting and I have not stopped.

People have asked me why I go out in the pursuit of death. They have asked why I insist on killing things. My answer is to be reminded of something constant.

I find that when someone kills something, regardless of its origin, that person becomes instantly aware of how fragile life is. When you hold in your hand something that was once alive, breathing, moving, existing and suddenly is stopped on account of your actions, your gaze turns inward.

I think of Kahlil Gibran’s phrase, “…by the same power that slays you I too am slain, and I too shall be consumed.”

This serves to remind me that all beings are subject to the same fate. I know that I will expire. Every time I walk into open country on a hunt, it is an examination of life. It is an opportunity to experience all that surrounds me. It is a time for me to study the interactions of living creatures, human or otherwise.

We that push through the brush, into the water and out towards the field come bringing thunder to the mountains. We wear patterns that break our human form from peering eyes, moving as shadows. We carry with us pillars of fire made from walnut and steel. But in spite of our menacing appearance, we hold a connection with nature that is misunderstood by most. This connection is an appreciation for life born from an understanding of death. For me, this makes life worth living.